Christmas Spirits
by Daniel Benson
Summary: So many years in that manor of theirs and the Everglots...most of them...never even knew it was haunted!
1. Chapter 1: Decorating the Tree

It certainly looked real, even if its green was somewhat more bright than was entirely natural. Hildegarde was up decorating it, even at such a late hour—but it had been her intention to do so whilst the two families slept, for she wished to surprise them come morning. She was doing quite an admirable job, but when it came to the upper half of the tree she experienced a few difficulties; she couldn't seem to reach that high. Muttering to herself in a somewhat flustered manner, she looked about her for a chair.

No chairs were to be immediately found; realizing this, she decided to settle for the piano's old stool instead. It was quite dark in the piano's old corner, but she knew where it was despite this—long years serving the Everglots had branded its position forever in her memory. As she tried to lift it, however, she found herself grasping an object which she could not believe was a piano stool.

"What's this? Oh, dear me," she grumbled, somewhat annoyed. "Where's a candle? Dear, dear me."

The candle was fetched and she returned a little cautiously to the piano stool, the candle's little flame shedding ample light over all that darkness had formerly hidden. With a gasp of astonishment, she took a few steps back. What could this mean? Of course he had his own room. Then why was he sleeping so soundly upon the stool, his head resting on his arm and his arm propped up on the piano itself? How odd.

Perhaps she wouldn't have woken him. Perhaps she would have. As it turned out, she was not required to do anything at all; as soon as she gasped, Victor's eyes snapped open and he leaped to his feet with a startled cry. Hildegarde cringed, but the noise was not all that bad; gazing at Victor curiously, she asked,

"Is yer room unsuitable, dearie? Something wrong, then?"

Victor sighed and pressed one hand against his forehead. "Nothing's wrong," he returned softly; his expression told her otherwise.

"Ye seem frightened, poor dearie," she said, grasping his thin arm. "Can't get any sleep, can ye?"

He couldn't seem to meet her gaze. "I—not really," he whispered.

"Well, then," the old nurse said with a friendly smile, "ye can help me with the tree. Goodness, ye're such a timid little pet." She pinched his cheek with unintended force. "Come on, now. Pick up that stool."

Victor bent to raise it, yet he stopped abruptly and turned towards Hildegarde instead. "Please," he said, catching hold of one of her wrinkled hands, "how long have you lived here with the Everglots?"

"Hmm." Hildegarde frowned a little. "Don't hold my hand so tightly, now. I'd say close to more than a few decades. Why?"

Victor was twisting the buttons of his coat, since he seemed to have no tie handy. "Has anything particularly—odd—ever happened?"

"Plenty," Hildegarde replied, "why, we've just decided to use a fake Christmas tree instead of a real one. Now if that isn't—"

"I don't mean that sort of thing," Victor said earnestly. "I mean—more disturbing things, little occurrences which may have frightened you."

Hildegarde stood silently for a moment, deep in thought. "No," she said finally. "Why? Have ye?"

She hadn't meant to upset him, but no sooner had she finished speaking than he seated himself quickly on the piano stool, avoiding her eyes and shivering every so often. It occurred to Hildegarde that perhaps Victoria had married a madman, but she thrust this thought swiftly aside and removed her shawl, draping it over Victor's thin shoulders and murmuring to him in her most soothing tone.

"There, there, ye must have had a nightmare. That's all. Everyone does, dearie. Rouse yerself, now—we wouldn't want Victoria to find ye a nervous wreck in the morning, would we? Then how would she feel? Terrible, let me tell ye, terrible..."

"Hildegarde," Victoria whispered, none the better for the old nurse's chatter, "tell me—do you think me mad? Honestly, now. And—and am I not—a—a _coward_, Hildegarde? Surely you must have noticed. I feel like such a wretch," he added, looking down.

Hildegarde had often found herself in this position while in the presence of Victoria. "Well," she said, holding his chin with two fingers and forcing his head up, "I think ye've an active imagination, dearie. That's all. Sometimes ye get carried away with something, but that isn't madness. You're a wonderful laddie, believe me."

"Then why," he said with some difficulty, "am I having hallucinations?"

Hildegarde hesitated. "Perhaps ye're feeling stressed," she said. "After all, ye still haven't bought Victoria a present, have ye? And we went and picked one out, too. An awful shame, yer taking so long."

Victor managed a smile. "You'll go with me tomorrow, of course," he said, "and we'll purchase it together. That is, if you've the time."

"Time? I've plenty of time, dearie. Now, are you going to help me with this tree?"

Victor stood, rubbing his hands vigorously. "Why," he replied, regaining the confidence he had formerly lost and bowing deeply, "I'd do _anything_ for you, fair Hildegarde!"

The nurse scowled. "What an impudent laddie ye are," she said. "Let's get a move on, then! We've only got all night."


	2. Chapter 2: Confession

It was shameless, but he could no longer resist the temptation. Victoria's room was indeed far too dark for his liking and far too quiet also, yet it was safe—an attribute of which his own chamber could not boast. If he could simply creep beneath her bed, take a quick nap there, and then leave come early morning, all would be well. If by some unhappy misfortune he was discovered, he would be more than pleased to explain all to his darling wife.

Finding the bed was more difficult than he would have thought possible; nevertheless, his searching hands soon encountered a bulky, soft object which he knew could be nothing else. He dropped to the floor silently, wincing as he did so, and then would have finally slipped beneath the bed had his head not struck against hard wood with some violence, causing a heavy thud that roused Victoria instantly from her slumber.

Terror lent her speed as Victoria caught up the box of matches which rested on the little table by her bed and, striking one of these, lit the candle that had been placed beside it. The room was flooded with light and Victor, sprawled awkwardly on the floor, found himself wishing that he could abruptly vanish even as his wife rose from her bed and said in her astonishment,

"Why—_Victor?" _

"Oh, Victoria—do forgive me," Victor whispered, rising hastily. "I—I didn't mean to wake you..."

Victoria's expression was frozen. "You're sneaking about in my room..."

"No...no, it's not like that at all!" Victor said with great desperation, moving towards her with a small gasp of pain—a gasp which did not escape her notice. Moving swiftly to his side, she tried to examine his head as she said gently,

"Be still, Victor. Is it your head? Did you hurt yourself badly when you ran into my dresser?"

Victor winced, wishing that Victoria had not draped a sizable amount of her clothes over her dresser's top, and replied, "No, I'm afraid not. It's something else...it's nothing, really. Nothing."

Victoria's interest and concern were simultaneously roused at this statement. Rubbing her eyes, she proceeded to study him from head to foot with the utmost care; a look of realization soon passed over her face and she reached out one hand, pressing it gently against his chest. Victor cried out and stepped backwards swiftly, but Victoria moved to one side in a manner that suggested she would not allow him to escape. She took a few small steps towards him and he again backed away, but she had positioned herself so that now she was between him and the door. Victor took somewhat lengthy strides in his haste and he fell over the bed behind him, an unfortunate occurrence which gave Victoria the chance she had so patiently waited for.

Victor strove to rise but Victoria held him down easily.

"Don't move," she hissed.

"Victoria!" Victor cried, a little frightened. She looked down at him and murmured soothingly,

"Come now, Victor, I'm not going to hurt you. How could you possibly think so? Now lie still."

Victor obeyed her silently, wondering if the dangers of his room could present any worse torture than this. Victoria's fingers worked at the buttons of his coat and he whispered,

"Don't, Victoria...it's not that bad, trust me."

"I can't trust you on such matters," Victoria said shortly. She sighed and frowned after having unbuttoned the coat with Victor's aid. "Hmm. More blood."

She should never had spoken thus. At these words, Victor fell utterly apart; he tried to rise in his panic, but still Victoria would not permit him to do so. Yet she was sympathetic and when he lay motionless once more she said to him gently,

"Victor, I won't touch you again without your permission—even though you know well that I wouldn't dream of harming you. Come, come, you're barely hurt, I'm sure...but I won't make you remain here if you do not wish to."

Victor gazed up at her as she stroked his face. "I'm so—nervous," he whispered. "And it's not merely because of this! I...I..."

"Yes?" Victoria said, seating herself on the bed.

Victor sighed. "You'll think me insane," he said.

Victoria felt more than a little hurt at this assumption. "Well," she said bitterly, "then perhaps I'd better not know—if you think that I feel so unbelieving towards the things you tell me." She would have risen and perhaps left if Victor had not sat up hastily, touching her arm and causing her to hesitate.

"Forgive me," he said softly. "It was wrong of me to speak of you so..."

"It was wrong of you to doubt me in any way," Victoria said, avoiding his gaze. "I must go. I must see Hildegarde."

Victor knew that she couldn't possibly wish to find her old nurse at this time of night. Taking her hands in his, he said,

"Please...don't leave, Victoria. What a cad I am! Oh, I—I'll tell you everything, Victoria, I swear I will! Only say you forgive me..."

"Forgive you for what, Victor? You're only taking for granted what everyone else does, after all—that I'm a silly young goose."

Victor trembled in his agony and seemed unable to speak further. He barely managed to take Victoria in his arms, so rattled was he, and he shook so very badly that for the briefest moment it occurred to him that perhaps he would die. A death of that sort he more than deserved.

Victoria had been badly hurt by his thoughtless statement, and as Victor held her close she more relished his anguish than pitied it. It was only when the tears began to spill from her unblinking eyes that she realized she couldn't bear to see him in such pain. Sobbing quietly, her arms encircled his thin waist.

Victoria's head rested on Victor's wounded chest, but he didn't seem to notice. "I'm so sorry—so sorry," he breathed.

Victoria raised her head until her eyes met his. "All the years I spent with those...those _fiendish _parents of mine!" she gasped, her voice choked with tears. "They've ruined me, haven't they?"

"No," Victor said in the faintest of whispers. He managed a smile. "They've simply made you quite sensitive."

Perhaps this observation would have offended her, too, only the rare smile which she now witnessed lessened her anger. She kissed his numb lips lightly.

"Tell me why you were in my room," she said, shifting her position until she rested more comfortably against him.

"Well, I..." Victor's cheeks burned and he closed his eyes, heart pounding with discomfort. "I wanted to...to...""Ah," Victoria said, laying one hand on his arm, "it can't be that bad."

"Oh, I...I wanted..._to spend the night beneath your bed, _where it's safe and...dark and...quiet!"

Well, what did it matter if he sounded like a complete and utter idiot? Victoria had wanted to know, after all. His eyes flew open as his wife made the strangest of sounds, yet he soon became more than relieved when he realized that she was only laughing at him. Gazing up at him once more, she pointed at his partially bloodstained vest.

"Does this have something to do with that brilliant idea?" she inquired.

Victor looked away. "As a matter of fact," he said, "...yes."

"I really should look at that wound, you know," Victoria said. "Oh, it will be so difficult to wash all the blood out of..."

"Ah—ah, yes," Victor said hurriedly, desperate to change the subject. "So, then...it...we ought...the..."

Victoria smiled. "How did you get it, then?" she said, now resting her head on his shoulder.

"Hmm," Victor sighed. "I was...stabbed."

"Stabbed," Victoria murmured sleepily, hardly disturbed. She sat bolt upright abruptly. "Stabbed! Whatever do you mean? I _must _look at that wound. Here, let me..."

"No," Victor said with all haste, "but...but believe me when I say, my Victoria, that my room is..._haunted_. And the ghosts—they're murderous!"

"Haunted!" Victoria said with a small frown. "Why, of course it is. Did you not know that, Victor? Oh, goodness...I forgot to tell you! Did they try to kill you? Poor thing, they're so used to being left in privacy. Tell me all about it, why don't you? It's alright," she added, noticing his shock, "I know that what you are saying is all too true."


	3. Chapter 3: Ill Feelings

Victoria was certain that a simple conversation with the ghosts would clear matters up and Victor could then return to his room without fear. It took a good deal of convincing on her part to coax her husband into joining her on this mission and when he finally complied she wasted no time in setting out for the haunted room; candle in hand, her unhesitating steps carried her swiftly to her destination where she was compelled to wait for a few moments as Victor attempted to put off the inevitable.

While she waited, she pressed her ear against the room's door, listening attentively. She need not have done so; someone from within the room spoke so loudly that for a moment she feared that persons elsewhere might hear and investigate.

"I swear I'll kill the man!" came the voice. "If I had just shoved a little harder with my umbrella..."

Hushed tones interrupted the speaker and for a moment all was fairly silent; then the voice came again, still more harshly.

"Mark my words—if he sets foot in here again, his death will be long and painful. Intruding like he did...why, this is _our_ room! It's bad enough that I have to share it with the likes of you apparitions, but to have some impudent, _living_ fellow barge in here and claim it as his, too, is far beyond what a girl like me could ever endure!"

Victoria's hand was on the doorknob when she realized that Victor now stood quietly at her side, watching her. His hands were clasped before him and his expression was one of frozen horror; she paused before entering and he said softly,

"Victoria—what if they should kill me as...as that person intends? Will they harm you, likewise?"

"That's only Mrs. Regare; she has quite a temper, but you needn't fear her. She's not the sort to kill anyone."Victoria smiled. "You should have seen her when I decided to give that room a good scrubbing once; I'd never seen such fury!"

Victor nodded, looking none too reassured, and his wife swung the door open; in they stepped, straight into the midst of a fine collection of ghosts. One of them was an ancient woman with a somewhat belligerent look about her, a gargantuan hat atop her head and an umbrella with a noticeably sharp tip gripped firmly in one hand; beside her stood an old man who seemed a good deal less irritable but a good deal more disturbing, for the grand process of decomposition had nearly ended with him whereas it was still taking its time with her. Seated on a nearby sofa were at least three others—a very gray gentleman in a top hat, a young lady who seemed somewhat ashamed of her left hand, which was no more than white, polished bone, and a child who could only be identified as such because he was an unnaturally small skeleton. Every face, fleshless or otherwise, was turned towards the two newcomers and a deathly silence fell which Victoria boldly set out to break.

"Why," she said, "Jamie, it's been months! Give me a hug, dear! Come, come!"

The young skeleton leaped from the couch and embraced her with a will. "Aunt Victoria," he said, "is it Christmas yet?"

"Not yet," she said with a small laugh, "be patient, my Jamie. Hmm, now," she said, noting Victor's frightened visage, "what do you think of this young man? He looks quite scared, does he not?"

"I think," said the skeleton, stepping away from her and observing Victor, "that Grandma Regina's going to kill him with her umbrella...isn't he awful skinny?" he added, reaching out and pinching Victor's arm.

"Yes—yes, I daresay I am," Victor said, a tremor in his voice as he stepped swiftly behind Victoria, "but don't –don't touch me, sir!"

"I haven't ever seen a living man," the skeleton sighed. He stepped around Victoria. "What big eyes he has; how warm he is! _Warm..."_

Victor nearly expired as the skeleton's bony arms tightened about his middle, yet he wished to please Victoria and remained still for as long as he could bear—which, sadly, was not a very lengthy amount of time. With a strangled cry, he tore himself away from Jamie and would have fled if Victoria hadn't caught his arm, forcing him to remain.

"Victor," she whispered soothingly, holding him close to her for a moment, "easy, darling. My poor Victor; I wish for your sake that we did not have to deal with this, but we must. We must."

Victor's breathing was labored and he closed his eyes, exhausted. "Victoria..." he murmured as she rested her hands on his chest.

"How lovely; I feel very much like I'm going to cry." The belligerent lady's voice startled them. "Still, Victoria, you haven't told us why you are allowing such a wretch to invade our room, our domain, our...our...our..."

"Territory," said the old skeleton at her side.

"Don't you see?" Victoria smiled, laying one hand against Victor's cheek. "We're married, Grandma. The wedding was late last week..."

"Hmph!" the old woman snapped. "And so your selfish husband resolves to take for himself the one room we have in our possession. I understand, my dear."

"It's not like that at all!" Victoria cried. "Why, it's all my fault, really..."

"Ah, don't try to take the blame upon yourself, dear Victoria," interrupted the ghost. "After all, I know how these things work. No doubt you married him for his money, correct? That..."

"No." The wistful voice of the young woman reclining on the sofa silenced her. She rested her chin on her hands, gazing at Victoria and Victor. "There's something about them, mother. Something truer than the cold love of wealth, something fairer and gentler, a..."

"How she will go _on!" _moaned the gentleman beside her.

"Well," Victoria sniffed, "I find that she has a far more clear view towards us than the rest of you have."

"Indeed she has," said the old woman with a thin smile. "Get that boy out of here, before I run him through!"

Victor quailed at the brandished umbrella and his wife felt a tad insulted.

"How dare you..." she began heatedly.

"How dare I!" cried the ghost, "Why, think about it. I have more of a right to this place than he does. I've lived here for ages, long before you were born. Why should I leave now? There are so many other rooms in this house for _him _to occupy."

"All of which," Victoria whispered, "Mother will not permit him to use."

The ancient woman snorted and approached Victoria, yet before she came near her it struck Victor that perhaps she intended to harm his young wife as she had harmed him. Without the slightest pause he thrust himself between the ghost and Victoria, startling both of them.

"The boy is mad!" the ghost fussed, waving her umbrella about.

"Victor?" Victoria gasped in her amazement.

Victor would not move. "I'll not let her near you," he declared with a somewhat timid glare at the old woman. "Who knows what she may do to you, Victoria? Don't make me step aside," he added weakly, his resolve giving way when he turned his head and noticed her irritation.

Victoria sighed. "She won't hurt me, Victor..."

"Maybe I won't hurt you," the old ghost snarled, raising her umbrella, "but I know a fellow I won't hesitate to give a beating he well deserves!"

Her confidence that her grandmother could not bring herself to harm a living soul caused Victoria to pay this statement no heed. Instead she opened her mouth to reply, yet before she could utter a word the ghost brought her umbrella with incredible force down upon Victor, striking him severely.

Victor's sharp cry of pain went straight to Victoria's heart; whether or not her grandmother knew how strong she truly was when she had behaved thus would remain a mystery, but her blow was violent enough to send her victim reeling in no particular direction until he crumpled at last, barely even conscious.

Victoria rushed to his side, her mind spinning as she tried to comprehend what had just taken place. Her grandmother followed her somewhat guiltily, murmuring something about not having acted in a very polite manner, when Victoria turned on her.

"Get away!" she screamed, nearly hysterical as she dropped to her knees beside Victor. "Don't come near me, or I swear I'll have this room torn down! Do you understand? Don't take a _step _near me!"


	4. Chapter 4: Victor is Resolved

Victoria's raised voice seemed to revive her swooning husband as he lay gasping on the floor. Gazing about him groggily, he said,

"Oh—what happened? The ghosts!"

"Never mind _them," _said Victoria between sobs. "Are you badly hurt?"

The voice of the wistful young woman interrupted his reply. "Will you let me look at him?" she asked in her quiet, melancholic fashion.

Victoria would have permitted her to do so, for she and that particular phantom had always been the deepest of friends, even in her early childhood—and she had not been particularly discourteous. Victor seemed to sense this, however, and hastily said,

"I'm quite fine—no need to put you through unnecessary trouble, is there?" His nervous laughter caused the onlookers to stare at him blankly. "Here, Victoria—won't you help me up? We must be going!"

"So soon?" breathed the ghost with a sigh.

"Forgive me, but—but yes. Why, it's morning and breakfast is waiting—and all—that sort of thing! We'll be back—I mean, we'll—oh, Victoria!"

His wife pulled him out of the room and shut the door behind her with an unnecessary slam, hoping that she had startled her grandmother by so doing. Her face was flushed with wrath and she stood motionless in the empty hallway, scowling at no one in particular.

Victor thought it wise to remain silent whilst she was in such a mood, but as it turned out, he was wrong. Turning on him, she spat,

"Hmm. Speechless again, I see. I'm always the one talking; I'm always the one who has to take control of every little situation. When have you managed anything for me, Victor? When have I ever been able to sit back and relax, knowing that you are taking care of—whatever the problem is."

Victor's head was bowed. "I—"

"No. I'm simply not in the mood for excuses. Did you notice that while we were talking with those—those _hooligans, _I was the only one speaking?"

"Perhaps..." Victor began.

Victoria would not hear him. With a dark look, she walked slowly to her room and entered it, slamming her door behind her just as she had slammed the ghosts' door.

For the first time, Victor could feel actual hatred growing swiftly in his heart. He had been so very happy—all had been pure bliss, excitement, and everyone had been in the best of cheer—until he had discovered those thoughtless specters. When he remembered all the pain they had caused his sweet, though somewhat irate, young wife, his dislike for them only became worse; with no room to return to but far too tired to wander about any longer, he sank to the floor and made himself as comfortable as he possibly could.

Before sleep overtook him, he resolved to somehow rid Victoria's home of its unwanted residents.


	5. Chapter 5: The Ghost Watcher

Of course, he did more than simply watch specters; he had taken it upon himself to rid the world of those ghosts who were wont to cause mayhem. He had no conventional occupation, and therefore hardly a penny to his name, but having no qualms about begging for victuals he managed to carry out a somewhat ignored existence. He was a lean, tall fellow, whose head seemed to perpetually lean to one side and whose lips ever bore a faint smile of pure cunning. When he had made Victor's hometown his own temporary haunt, he kept to the bridge when he was not seeking food; there he could lean out over the water in a manner that reminded those who noticed him of a vulture, motionless and yet causing one to think that he spied something no one else could possibly observe, or care to.

It was to this person that poor Victor Van Dort hastened, desperate for aid. Christmas had been a grim affair for him; not only had Victoria refused to look at the present he had purchased for her, thus rendering it necessary for him to avoid the gift she had for him, but she hadn't spoken a word to him. It had been terrible for near everyone, save the couple's parents—they seemed to think such behavior more than natural. After all, they hadn't bought each other presents.

Victor could not sleep a wink that awful night; so, instead of remaining in bed feeling quite wretched, he fled the house and sought Pastor Galswells. The pastor had been more than helpful, drowsily recommending the assistance of the town's only "Ghost Watcher," by name Whim Peelding.

"Mr. Peelding?" Victor swallowed with some unease as he stood at the edge of the bridge. "Mr. Peelding? May I speak with you, sir?"

Mr. Peelding jerked his head towards Victor but seemed unwilling to leave his post. "What do you want?" he hissed.

"I—are you not a ghost w-watcher, sir?"

"Ghost watcher?" Mr. Peelding gave a small, bitter laugh. "I daresay."

Victor squared his shoulders. "Please," he said with a smidgen of boldness, "I need your help, sir. Ghosts, you know. That sort of thing."

"That sort of thing?" Peelding's interest became somewhat more noticeable. "What do you know of ghosts?"

"Enough," Victor said. He sighed deeply. "I lived with them for ever so long...a while back, you know."

"Ah." Peelding came near him then, though hesitantly. "You lived here with them?"

Victor was becoming quite nervous. "Well, I...we...they...I was in the Land of the Dead then, sir..."

"The Land of the..." Peelding sucked in his breath and grasped Victor's hands. "Say you're lying," he rasped.

"I'm lying!" Victor cried, badly frightened, and he attempted to free himself of the madman's firm hold.

"Wait," Peelding cried as his would-be employer broke free and made a desperate dash for home. When Victor paused he approached him with long, quick steps, saying as he did so, "You require my assistance; that much is clear to me. And I will do all I can for you if you will, in return, tell me all you know of the land you speak of."

A little taken aback by this proposition, Victor eased his way backwards as he said, "Why would you like me to tell you about it? Has it something to do with your occupation?"

Peelding watched Victor's slow progress as that person retreated from him and a look of utter panic crossed his face for an instant. "Sir," he said, attempting politeness for the first time, "it does."

There was something in Peelding's keen gaze that caused Victor to doubt his honesty very much indeed. "I'm afraid..." he ventured as he tried to think up some excuse for not imparting the desired information.

Peelding took a few steps towards Victor and dropped to his knees. "I don't mean the dead any harm," he said, sounding still more mad than he had previously. "And what of your problem? How will you rid yourself of your ghosts without me, hmm?"

Peelding had a good point; Victor's heart sank as he realized that, if he wished to clear things up in his home, he himself had no choice at all.


End file.
